


Exciting thing always happens in a coffee shop

by Jamesey1012



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Bakery and Coffee Shop, M/M, obligatory coffee shop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 03:03:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamesey1012/pseuds/Jamesey1012
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a graveyard shift, Dr. Jean Kirschtein might have found an oasis for his tired soul in the form of a freckled gentle giant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exciting thing always happens in a coffee shop

**Author's Note:**

> I made Marco bigger than he actually is because I couldn’t stop imagining a hulking shy Marco hiding behind his shorter and slighter (but full of scowls and sarcasm) boyfriend.

The first thing Dr. Kirschtein–Jean, to the few lucky bastards who managed to be in his inner circle–noticed was the soft indie song that was playing, mixing with the right pitch of human chatter and whooshing sound of the espresso machine to achieve the perfect background noise. The line to order wasn’t unbearably long and the aroma of the fresh baked poppy seed muffin was already tickling his nose. He made the final decision to walk past the doorway and headed towards the queue. He stood at the very last spot, just behind a tiny young woman in jogging attire. Her blonde hair was tied in a messy bun while a bright orange headphones replacing the function of a headband. Her right foot was tapping gently on the shop’s wooden floor, perhaps to the beat of whatever song she was listening in the privacy of her own ears. Right in front of the lady was a bald stern-looking business man, giving his order to the cashier with the ease of a frequent customer.

Jean glanced at his watch; 07:30 AM. 

Located in a busy intersection among towering old brown-brick office buildings, he could see why the coffee shop could attract patronage at such early hours. Here crisp business suits and polished formal shoes mingled comfortably with the casual hoodies of college students and their worn-out canvas sneakers. Many of them ignored the scattered wooden chair and several plush sofas, opting for grabbing their orders and stepping back into the routine of the outside world. 

Usually Jean would briskly walked past the shop on the way home, only sparing a peek at the crowd inside through the large glass window. But today his horoscope said a little change would bring good luck (not that he believed it one hundred percent); and he was carving for a muffin. The warm color tone of the interior made the coffee shop appeared like an isolated homey dimension, away from the busy concrete jungle in which humans became worker ants for salary. The shop was probably more crowded at night time. When humans shrugged off their day persona and sought inner peace.

Luckily Jean didn’t have any day persona. He had the graveyard shift at the hospital instead. Morning was when he staggered out of the hospital, hair disheveled, eyes red, exhaustion marred his face, but shoulders lax with relief of not having to be responsible for any lives. During the day his only duties were to feed his cat, watch a new episode of his favorite TV series, and catch up on sleep. He had all the time in the world. He could monopolize the morning coffee shop for himself. 

Yes, he would sit on the sofa, the one near the glass window, while resting his back on the cream-colored crochet pillow and sipping on–

“Excuse me, sir, your order?”

His head snapped to the voice. The young man on the counter was a good three to five inches taller than him. His body was hulking; broad shoulders, muscles, and all. It didn’t match the soft voice. Or the pair of brown doe eyes. Or the constellation of freckles on the bridge of his nose that extended to each of his cheek.

“Err…” He was usually more eloquent than this, especially with curse words. “A large green tea latte please.”

What? He's a bit of a sweet tooth.

“And a poppy seed muffin.” He added in the way one would add a P.S. in letter.

The young man nodded and rang up his bill. Jean payed with a crumpled bill of twenty from his jeans pocket.

“Can I have you?” The man suddenly said.

"... _w_ _hat?"_

"Your name. Can I have your name." The man stammered. "S-sorry."

“Oh." No, Jean didn't sound disappointed. Not much anyway. "It’s Jean.”

“Like Jean-Claude Van Damme?”

“Yeah, but without the Claude and Van Damme.”

“Got it. Jean without the Claude and Van Damme.” The freckled man scribbled something on a large paper cup with this dopey smile. But then the smile faltered before it completely dropped into a frown.

“Oh no…” He sounded thoroughly disappointed at himself. “I forgot to ask if you want them for here or to go.“

"To go is fine.” Jean quickly said. “Don’t worry about it.”

The smile re-appeared at full force. “Thank you! And sorry again about that." 

Jean felt like shielding his face from the brilliant view but managed to hold it with barely a hand twitch. "No problem.” He shrugged. Paper cup or ceramic cup made no difference once it touched his lips.

When the man turned his back to work on the order and a different cashier took his place, Jean stepped aside to the waiting area. Another look at his watch told him that it was 07:47 AM. Looking back up, he caught the man processing his green tea latte with the gracefulness that seemed a bit odd on such a bulky built. It was so fascinating Jean ended up resting both elbows on the counter and watching. There was something about the man that made him couldn’t look away.

Maybe he had met him somewhere before? He would let his brain thought that out later.

“Here you go, Jean.” The man put the cup and the paper bag containing a poppy seed muffin on the counter. Jean peered into the cup. On top of the thick green liquid was a white doodle made of milk. 

“It’s supposed to be the typical flower design.” The confession sounded sheepish, accompanied with an awkward neck rub.

“It looks like a botched heart.” Jean commented.

“Ye-yeah. Sorry.”

The sadist in Jean liked the squirming blushing version of this giant, so he voiced the thought, “it’s okay. I like it.”

 _‘It’_  was such an ambiguous word. Though he really didn’t mind the messed up latte art.

The man smiled again, shy and gentle this time. “You’re very kind, Jean.”

“Usually I’m an asshole, or so more than a few people had testified.” Jean took the paper cup and the muffin. “Maybe because it’s you.” Light brown eyes stared at the freckled giant in front of him. The man sprouted even redder blush. “Yeah, definitely because it’s you.” he grinned.

Jean ignored the sputtered reply of “e-excuse me?” and walked to the sofa he had aimed at the beginning, the one near the glass window with the cream-colored crochet pillow. As his ass sunk comfortably on the furniture, he noticed the scribble on the paper cup. It was a string of number with a 'hi I'm Marco' next to it.

A smile bloomed on the good doctor's face, which he quickly hid by sipping on the latte.

Huh. The horoscope had been right.


End file.
